


Mistake

by TheKatlocker (TheKat79)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03 Fix-It, The Tarmac Scene (Sherlock)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 05:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKat79/pseuds/TheKatlocker
Summary: “To the very best of times, John.”Sherlock looked at him with eyes so sad it nearly broke John's heart, hand outstretched in front of him, patiently waiting for John to take it.That's how it's going to end, then.Spoiler: it won't!





	Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> There was this gif of Sherlock, sadly smiling at John on the tarmac, that appeared way too often on my Twitter timeline lately and it made my heart bleed every time I saw it, so I had to do something about it.  
> There are probably hundreds of tarmac-scene-fix-it fics out there, so here's one more. Enjoy!
> 
> Now available in Polish, translated by the lovely aeval74. Thank you so much!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828786?fbclid=IwAR3nVxLNvtL7O-JCL8uIYvdPQuRukYA2rdGusuTgaY1CVso8CaezCoXpsN8

“To the very best of times, John.”  
Sherlock looked at him with eyes so sad it nearly broke John's heart, hand outstretched in front of him, patiently waiting for John to take it.  
That's how it's going to end, then.  
A warm handshake as farewell to his best friend. To the best man he has ever known, the only one that had ever truly mattered. Nothing else but a handshake, after everything they've been through. After John had lost him once before, without the chance of a proper goodbye and had hardly survived without him. 

John wanted to grab Sherlock by the lapels and draw him close, hug him tight and never let go to prevent him from doing what he apparently had to do, but John knew he couldn't. Not with his pregnant wife and Sherlock's insufferable brother watching them from a distance, not close enough to overhear them, but close enough to see everything that was going on between them. So John did the only thing he could in this very moment, he stretched out his hand, took Sherlock's and held it firmly in his own, trying to tell him everything he couldn't say out loud through the only point of contact between them, where bare skin touched bare skin. John held Sherlock's hand as long as he possibly could before he eventually let go, heart heavy in his chest.

He watched Sherlock turn around, saw him walk away swiftly, but reluctantly, Belstaff wafting around him in a way that had become so familiar over the years, yet was so unique. So very much Sherlock.  
John watched him climb the two steps into the little private jet, bending his head and disappearing from view and something inside of John shifted.  
He looked at the tarmac under his feet, dark grey and solid, glanced back up at the open doorway of the airplane, pursing his lips and something told him that he couldn't let Sherlock walk away like this, couldn't lose him once more without knowing if he would ever see him again.  
He couldn't just go back to this faceless house in the suburbs, with a woman he didn't even know and a child on the way he had never truly planned.  
He couldn't keep on living with a woman that had shot his best friend and nearly killed him, despite having witnessed the devastation in John after he had lost him before. Just sitting there, waiting for his best friend, that might or might not come back. Not this time. 

John saw a steward preparing to close the door and his feet started to move on their own volition.  
“Wait,” he shouted at the man.  
“John?” Mary asked from somewhere beside the plane, tone a bit too sharp, while Mycroft just sighed in such a manner that John could practically see the eyeroll without even looking at the man.  
The steward looked at John in confusion before his gaze shifted to Mycroft and something in his features cleared. The man lowered the door back down and John rushed past him into the plane. 

John found Sherlock standing right in the middle of the small airplane, hands braced on the backrests on either side of the narrow aisle, with his back turned to the door. His shoulders were hunched, head hanging low and John knew he couldn't let him go like this.  
“Sherlock,” John said, maybe a bit too forceful.  
Sherlock's head snapped up and within a second he composed himself, spine straightening, shoulders squaring, head getting up high. He turned around in one swift motion, the fabric of his coat brushing along the edge of the seat beside him with a faint rustling noise. The smile that was plastered on his face was so obviously feigned that John couldn't help but grin.  
“John?”  
Sherlock tried to act indifferent with this deep furrow between his eyes that indicated irritation, but John had seen the curt flicker of relief that had crossed Sherlock's features at the sight of him and if that wasn't enough, the tears Sherlock desperately tried to suppress told John everything he needed to know. 

John stepped a bit closer, feeling less confident than he probably appeared, but he soldiered on nonetheless.  
“I can't let you go like this, Sherlock. Not again.”  
Sherlock's nonchalance already faded when his gaze dropped to the floor. John watched him for a few seconds, biding a bit of time to choose his next words with care.  
“What did you really want to say?” John asked quietly.  
Sherlock looked up in surprise, brows furrowed.  
“When?”  
“When you made that joke about your name.”  
A complicated succession of expressions crossed Sherlock's face, starting with confusion, quickly followed by a brief second of understanding and then desperate longing.  
Sherlock looked like a man who wanted to say something he had kept to himself for far too long, but didn't dare because in the next second he got his features back under control.  
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Sherlock tried to act nonchalant once more, but John saw the blatant lie behind the facade.  
“Yes you do,” he said softly, taking another step closer.  
Sherlock just looked at him, studying John's face for what felt like an eternity until his eyes softened around the edges.  
“I just wanted to see you smile one last time,” Sherlock said eventually.  
And there it was again, this sad smile that John had seen only minutes ago out on the tarmac and his heart ached. It was the smile of a man who had lost everything. A man who knew that he would never have what he so desperately wanted and had finally given up hope.  
John had seen a very similar look on Sherlock's face on the evening of his wedding day, when Sherlock, and John too, had realized that a baby in John's life would alter their lives, and with it their relationship, forever. John hadn't understood what that look meant back then, at least that's what he had been telling himself for the past few months, but now, in this very moment, he knew and it broke his heart. 

John pursed his lips, dropped his head, eyes closing briefly, before he looked back up through his lashes.  
“You're not coming back, are you?” He asked carefully.  
John saw the brief moment of surprise before Sherlock avoided his gaze, biting his lower lip nervously. He took a deep breath and shook his head, very, very slowly. 

The motion, and the meaning behind it, nearly choked John, his chest clenching so hard that he had to press a hand to his chest to ease the pain. He inhaled, held his breath to calm himself, exhaled.  
This was the only chance he would get to make this right and he knew that he would regret it for the rest of his life if he failed now.  
“I ask you once again,” John said quietly, “what was it you really wanted to say?”  
Sherlock looked at him and John saw something breaking in Sherlock's eyes. He shook his head.  
“It wouldn't be fair to tell you now.”  
“Fair to whom?”  
“To you, John!” Sherlock's voice was desperate and a bit too loud in the muffled silence of the plane.  
“And what about you?” John cocked his head.  
Sherlock smiled sadly.  
“It hardly matters anymore.”  
“It matters to me, Sherlock,” John said fiercely.  
He stepped directly into Sherlock's space, grabbing him by the elbow to enforce his words and stared up into those pale blue eyes.  
Sherlock searched John's face with eyes full of pain.  
“I'm sorry, John,” he whispered. He covered his face with shaking hands, turning away to avoid eye contact.  
“I can't,” he whispered, the words muffled through his hands.  
“But I can,” John told him, placing a hand on his best friend's shoulder, giving it a squeeze for good measure. After a moment he felt Sherlock lean back into the touch and that gave John all the confirmation he needed to soldier on.  
“I'm not letting you go, Sherlock, not this time.”  
Sherlock scoffed, his hands dropping from his face. His next words sounded painfully resigned.  
“You hardly have a say in the matter.”  
“The two of us against the rest of the world, isn't that what you said?”  
Sherlock whirled around, eyes suddenly wild, knocking John's hand from his shoulder in the process.  
“Yes, well... that was before you got married and impregnated your wife.” Sherlock spat the words out as if they were poison and John felt a stab in his heart.  
The accusation hang heavily in the air between them and a moment later Sherlock stumbled backwards with his hands held up in defence, horrified by his own words.  
“John...,” he breathed, shaking his head with wide eyes.  
Sherlock looked like he couldn't believe what he had just said, like he wanted to take the words back, but no sound came out of his slightly parted lips. 

“You're right.” All the air left John's lungs in a rush. He bent his head, pushing a hand through his hair.  
“I should have never married her.” John looked up just in time to see Sherlock's expression becoming resigned, hands dropping to his sides.  
“It was a mistake, Sherlock, I know that, but when you came back I... I was furious,“ John said fiercely. ”Those two years? They nearly destroyed me. I wanted to hurt you.“ John swallowed. “I wanted to hurt you just like you've hurt me. I wanted to make you feel what I felt and I...” John exhaled hard, shaking his head, not knowing how to even finish that sentence.  
He had never admitted it to himself, but he knew that it was true. He knew that marrying Mary would be a mistake the moment he lay eyes on Sherlock in this bloody restaurant, with that ridiculous moustache painted on his face. He wanted to end everything with Mary right then and there, but he couldn't bring himself to do it out of fear that he might not survive the next time Sherlock let him down.  
Sherlock, now in this moment, looked like he understood, like he deserved all the pain John had put him through. 

“We fucked up, didn't we?” John asked him, the corner of his lips drawn up in a wry smile.  
“Tremendously,” Sherlock pressed his lips together in a tight smile.  
They looked into each other's eyes for a long time, neither of them knowing what to say anymore, how to make this right.  
John felt drained by all the memories and emotions that had flooded his mind during the last few minutes, so he took the two steps forward that brought him back into Sherlock's space, dropped his head and leant forward, until his forehead rested against Sherlock's chest. He shook his head slowly and just breathed for a few seconds until he felt Sherlock's hands carefully closing around his upper arms.  
John looked up slowly, until he saw damp blue eyes looking back at him, their faces only inches apart and decided to give it one last try.  
“What did you really want to say?” he whispered.  
Sherlock closed his eyes, exhaling in a rush. His warm breath ghosted over John's skin and made him shiver. When Sherlock opened his eyes again it took him a moment to focus on John's.  
John saw him searching his face for a long time and just waited to give him all the time he needed. When Sherlock finally spoke his voice was a faint whisper, barely audible despite their close proximity.  
“I'm in love with you, John Watson.”

Something warm flooded John's chest and for a long moment he could just stare at Sherlock, completely and utterly stunned. He saw all the emotions on Sherlock's face that he had hidden so well over the past few months. He saw the desperation and the loss, the pain and the longing, the hope and the unconditional love and when he couldn't bare to be apart from Sherlock for a single second longer he leaned forward and upwards and brushed his lips carefully over Sherlock's.  
The breath that had caught in Sherlock's throat, escaped in a little whimper and John felt warm lips trembling against his own. John leaned closer, pressing his mouth more firmly against Sherlock's, arms closing around his slim waist, hands clenching in the heavy fabric of the Belstaff, while Sherlock's hands tightened around his biceps. He searched forwards, deepening the kiss, slowly but deliberately.  
Sherlock was breathing heavily against him now, chest heaving against John's. Sherlock's whole body tensed up in John's arms, heart racing in his chest, so John slipped a hand upwards, around Sherlock's neck and into his hair in a soothing manner and Sherlock sighed in relief, some of the tension leaving his body. He slipped both arms around John's shoulders to pull him even closer and started kissing back in earnest. 

They kissed deeply, but without the intention of taking this any further, just enjoying this, right here and now. Sherlock's hands stroked slowly up and down John's back and he felt truly cherished for the first time in his life.  
Their kiss was everything John had ever craved and so much more. It was soft and firm, a bit clumsy in between, but so, so right.  
After a minute, or two, or maybe twenty, John drew back slowly, letting his lips linger against Sherlock's for a moment longer, before he looked up into Sherlock's eyes that were so full of wonder and damp at the corners. Sherlock bent down to bury his face in the crook of John's neck, breathing heavily against warm skin and John tightened his grip, holding him close to breathe in the scent of the man that was so familiar and felt so very much like home.  
“John,” Sherlock whispered against his neck.  
“Sherlock,” John murmured, shifting a bit so that he could press a kiss against his temple. 

There was the clearing of a throat somewhere behind them and John looked back over his shoulder to find Mycroft and Mary standing in the doorway of the little plane. He didn't know how long they had been standing there, how much they had seen or heard, but neither of them looked especially shocked at the sight of John and Sherlock in each other's arms. Mary looked merely resigned and Mycroft, oddly enough, more content than anything else.  
John cleared his throat, turning around to face them properly. He felt Sherlock's arms slipping away from his shoulders and grabbed blindly behind him to catch Sherlock's trembling hand in a tight grip.  
“He's not going without me. Wherever you send him, Mycroft, I'm going with him.”  
“John...” Sherlock sighed, but John just tightened the grip around his hand to silence him.  
“That might not be necessary, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft said, with an expression John couldn't quite grasp. “There is a video I'd like Sherlock to take a look at.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this little fic!  
> I hope you liked my little take on the tarmac scene. If so, I would be more than happy to hear from you.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [BŁĄD](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828786) by [aeval74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeval74/pseuds/aeval74)




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